


Open Mic Night

by wishicouldunreadthat



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 08:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13232133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishicouldunreadthat/pseuds/wishicouldunreadthat
Summary: Eighteen and studying for a degree that is mind-numbingly dull, Dan could dream of nothing better than becoming a pianist, but he has to be practical. With his life falling down the drain, he stumbles across a quaint little bar with a very alternative-looking bartender who gets him a job working as the bar’s pianist. His dream may be coming true, but when things get complicated with Phil, Dan may run in fear before he can work things out.





	Open Mic Night

**Author's Note:**

> My Phandom Reverse Bang piece! Sorry for another late post - I'll have to remind myself that I own an ao3 account in the future :/ But here it is! See @imtryingokayguys on tumblr for their art, on which this fic was based.  
> Title: Open Mic Night  
> Artist: @imtryingokayguys  
> Beta: @honeybearhowell  
> Author: @wishicouldunreadthat  
> Word Count: 14.5k  
> Warnings: strong language, angst

[Link to @imtryingokayguys‘ art](https://imtryingokayguys.tumblr.com/post/168101225102/for-the-phanfiction-reverse-bang-dan-is-a) (from which this fic was based)

 _Does it ever feel like life never wants you to succeed? To be happy? To really be_ you _?_

At nineteen - struggling on a law course he can’t stand, barely surviving without a job, and wishing he could be living a whole different life right now - this is what Dan thinks about. Alone, in the music department of the university, he sits in front of the piano - a standard piano - too terrified to lay his fingers on it. He came here with terrible grades but a music scholarship, which didn’t actually mean anything more than a free pass into the course and nothing more. No music, no pianos. Just. Boring. Law. It was a painful decision, but what else could Dan have done? The road of music didn’t exist - at least, it’s cracked and cracking, and was never open to him in the first place. The only path left was this - mundanity, but reality. A proper, foreseeable career. (Although, at this rate, it doesn’t look like he’s going to make it into the second year).

Students loans just add fuel to the flames, to be honest, in the bonfire that is Dan’s current life. It’s enough to pay the rent, bills, and weekly shop. Just about.  _Fine_  - actually, Dan is struggling money-wise. All the books and pens and paper he needs for the course used up all his money at the start of the term and he’s always running low on supplies. He needs more money. Problem is, getting a part-time job is practically  _impossible_  when you’re at uni, because everyone wants one. There’s nothing available.

At this point, Dan wonders if he’s going to die.

There’s a night out for his flat tonight, to some local bar that they’ll pick when they get there, and out of sheer boredom Dan is going. He never used to drink in years before, but how can he not now, when alcohol makes everything good for a little while?

The group - or whoever’s leading - picks some place at random and they all cram inside. At first contact, Dan realises this isn’t your typical student bar. It’s too small, quiet, a little too well-kept, and -

_Oh my god, is that a piano?_

Sitting there nicely, a little dusty, to the side of a small stage in the corner of the bar, certainly is a piano. Dan wonders how it got here. Pianos are still very expensive, and this little place only has two people working behind the bar right now in their own clothes and just this loud group of uni students as their customers. It looks very out of place, but also, quite normal. It isn’t too extravagant, and this place is decorated quite nicely. Is this how bars usually look? Is it pubs that look like a drunken fight between football fans has just broken out? (Truth be told, Dan has never been in one).

The group settles down in a booth and starts picking out their starting drinks, chattering loudly between themselves. Meanwhile, Dan sits there, taking in the scenery in quiet admiration.

Someone turns to face the bar, where now only one worker stands, and starts yelling about their order.

The worker, nonchalantly, rests one elbow on the counter, leans over, head in the palm of his hand, and pulls a smug smile.

“If you’re gonna order,” he yells back calmly, “ _you_  come over here.”

The guy groans but obliges, grumbling to himself as he waddles over to the counter to meet him (there may have been some pre-drinks).

Dan eyes this worker carefully, intrigued. Mainly because he himself was always super nervous when dealing with customers. But this guy… he’s so chill. He looks comfortable right now, leaning over the counter and smiling at the guy as he orders. He has a lot of confidence, especially for someone who… who  _looks_  so… umm,  _alternative._  His hair is mostly short, but he has a sweeping long fringe dyed bright blue that covers one of his eyes, and from the looks of it, he might be wearing eyeliner. As Dan stares, the worker rolls up the sleeves of his smart shirt - ready to pour some drinks - revealing sleeves of tattoos on both arms. They look pretty colourful, even from this distance. He’s certainly eye-catching.

He’s preparing the drinks now, still smiling to himself as the student slugs back to his seat.

 _How old is he?_ Dan wonders curiously.  _He doesn’t own this place, does he? He hardly looks over twenty._

The barman’s eyes suddenly catch Dan’s -

His heart leaps into his throat and he turns away, mumbling a number of curses under his breath.  _Shit_ , he whines.  _Now I look creepy. Can’t come here ever again, then._

The evening passes slowly, boringly, and Dan just about gets through it with a good few glasses. It was a mistake, he decides, coming out tonight. Drinking is certainly not his thing.

At the end of the evening, that same barman comes over and calmly lays the bill down on the table.

“I’m calling it tonight,” he tells the group with a knowing smile. “It’s illegal to be drunk in public here, y’know?”

For the record, Dan isn’t drunk, just a little more comfortable than usual: but he’s the only one.

With the bill comes a little flyer, and whilst the rest of the group struggle to find the money to pay for all their drinks, Dan eyes it subtly over the table:

“ _OPEN MIC NIGHT_

_Professional? Amateur? First-timer?_

_Come perform! You can sing or play an instrument - we have our very own piano! - and just have fun!_

_From 7pm til closing, 14th October.”_

“You should try it.”

Dan jumps out of his seat, heart pounding.

That barman stands over him, both hands on the table, grinning down at him. Where… where the hell did everyone else go?

“I…” he stutters awkwardly, his face flushing red. “I wasn’t thinking about it…”

“Oh no,” the guy giggles back. His posture softens and he stands upright again, no longer leaning close to Dan’s face. He lays his hands on his hips. “You were staring at the flyer for so long that your friends all disappeared and you just didn’t notice.”

Dan slouches in defeat. The barman chuckles.

“Don’t be so shy,” he tells Dan softly. “You obviously want to do it. Come along.” Then he smiles. “I’ll be here.”

Dan  _really_ hopes he’s not blushing right now. “I-I need to focus my time on finding a job, really… “ He sighs. “S-sorry.”

The guy doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, after quickly looking around him, he takes a seat next to Dan - to which, Dan can’t help but hold his breath.

“There’s a prize,” he whispers to him. “The most liked performances get some prize money at the end of the evening.” Dan stares at him, wide-eyed. The barman smiles. “Interested now?”

Dan gulps.

“Have a think about it, okay?” He stands himself back up again. Being that close, Dan could see this guy’s piercings, and a brief hint of tattoos down his neck. “Just show up on the day. And, if you don’t want to do it, you can either go, or have a few drinks.” Then -  _oh god_  - he  _winks_.

Dan rushes out as fast as he can, unable to hide his burning hot flush. He definitely can’t go back now.

Even so, even thinking that now, he’s still gripping the flyer tightly in his hand.

***

The music practice room is quiet today - empty, as usual. Lectures only started a couple of weeks ago, but people have already started to lose their motivation for education. Once again, Dan is alone in this room, sitting silently at the piano.

It’s nice - this room, when it’s empty. It feels strange. Maybe Dan’s just tired, but seeing all these instruments, capable of producing such loud, amazing sounds, all silent and still, it feels like the air of this room is filled with potential - tension, perhaps - that at any moment one may start to play. It makes Dan’s hair start on end in anticipation. He’s lucky, because he’s the one in control right now. That’s something that always excited him about music: he can control the noise within a room, control what other people hear, what sounds this instrument will produce out of an infinite number of possibilities.

He has a score laid out in front of him, waiting to be played, the silent potential of each written note waiting for Dan to bring them to life.

A quiet, tired sigh escapes him. He’s too passionate about music. How on earth is he going to get through a Law degree?

There’s no obligation for him to be here right now, in front of this piano. He never needs to play again. All Dan ever needed were the exams saying that he could play well. Really, he shouldn’t even be here, about to learn something. But he can’t help himself. He  _needs_ to play - like the piano is his heart, and the melody is his heartbeat, and his fingers on the keys are what keeps the heart beating, what’s keeping him alive. It’s a very different kind of living to that he could do without the piano. But that would be empty, dull, silent. Monotonous. Dan needs the sweet vibrancy of music to keep him going.

It may not be much, he thinks, but playing at that bar might just give him the buzz he needs.

***

The rest of the week passes too quickly, and Dan finds himself outside the door of the bar at seven o’clock far too soon. He gulps nervously. His legs are shaking. He’s never really performed in front of anyone before, save for the examiners. But he isn’t here to prove that he can play - he’s here to provide a service, to entertain for once. Maybe he can’t do that. He hasn’t been  _trained_ to do that - only to pass the exams.

Maybe he should just go home.

He tightens his fingers round the strap of his backpack. No. As that guy said, even if he can’t perform, he can at least have a drink.

***

_Doesn’t it seem like life never really gets you very far? Like you’ll always stay in the same singular boring place?_

At twenty-three, working a dead-end job in a small bar in the middle of Manchester, these are the things Phil thinks about. It’s not discussed enough, but when you finish university without a proper bridge to a relevant career, you’re left wandering aimlessly around your hometown wondering what the hell you’re going to do next. Phil has been working here ever since, trying to make ends meet. And he can’t go any further. There’s no path he can take, no door left ajar, that leads to anything better than this sorry life. Sure - it’s upsetting, and unfulfilling, but it’s all he can do.

When you’re in a situation like that, getting bored out of your mind, there are two things you tend to do without even realising: you fantasise about a better life, and you focus on minute, insignificant things. If you’re  _really_ unlucky, you do both - at the same time. Phil hasn’t gotten that unlucky yet, but he’s getting close.

He’s definitely close, because of that kid.

That uni student, so out of place, so bored out of his mind, who came to the bar just a few days ago. Maybe he’s not that young, but he gives off that vibe. He probably isn’t special. He’s probably ordinary and boring. But, to Phil, in the tired haze of a late Monday night, that kid was the most interesting thing he’d seen in a long time. He wanted to talk to him so badly, maybe tease him a little if he could. And when he saw him staring at the piano, he knew he’d found just the way in.

All Phil could hope for now was that boy’s return. Because, if he stays away, Phil’s going to go back to being incredibly bored.

He rests his chin in the palm of his hand, facing his head lamely towards the door. Everyone who comes in is boring, just like the rest. At least he himself has brightly coloured hair, just to look a little more interesting. Phil starts to wonder what colour that boy should dye his hair someday - something pastel, maybe? Pink or silver might do best. Truth be told, he can barely remember what he looks like.

Someone tall walks in and Phil jumps up excitedly -  _there! It’s him! Thank god, he came back!_

The boy darts his eyes around the place sheepishly - it’s far busier than it was on the Monday night - and he starts to sink into himself quickly. Phil can’t help but grin at the sight. He’s too adorable.

“Hey!” he calls out to him, waving his hand for him to see. The boy glances over and instantly flushing bright pink. Phil finds it endearing. “Don’t be so shy - come here!”

He walks over shyly, keeping his head down and one hand wound tightly round the strap of his backpack.

“I didn’t think…” he whispers, voice shaky, “there’d be so many people.”

Phil doesn’t bother to hide his smile. “It’s alright. They’re not all here for the open mic night - most of them are regulars - just here to get drunk. So relax.” He leans his head on his hand again calmly. “You’re gonna have fun tonight.”

***

The bartender-guy gets Dan to write his name down on a piece of paper, to show he’s interested in performing tonight, and Dan doesn’t think much of it.

“Thing is…” he mumbles nervously. He does wonder why he feels comfortable staying around this guy now, though. But in his defense, he has nowhere else to go in this room. This bartender-guy seems like the place to go, since they met before. “I really don’t think I’m gonna be performing today. I just… I need to try getting any money I can, but I’ve never properly performed in front of anyone before.” His fingers tighten round the bag strap. “I should probably go home.”

“No!” the barman cries. He reaches out to grab Dan’s arm but stops himself, instead reaching for a glass. “I told you - stay for a drink, at least. I made you come all the way out here, so I might as well pay for it.” As Dan’s eyes widen, the barman only grins. “What should I get you, then?”

Dan feels like blushing now, but he tries to resist it.  _Please don’t make a fool of yourself,_ he pleads in his head.

He shyly asks for a cider and mumbles an awkward thank you as the guy passes it to him. He then has to serve other people for a while, so Dan is left alone at the bar for a few minutes. He doesn’t mind that too much, but he does sometimes have a habit of boredom-drinking, and alcohol is not a good thing to consume before using his brain in any sense.

When the barman gets some free time again, he slides back over to Dan - which  _definitely_ makes him blush.  _Why does he have to be so interested in me? Why can’t he just leave me alone? I’ll really make a fool of myself otherwise!_

“It’s about to start,” he whispers with a smile. “You’ll be near the end, so don’t get too nervous just yet, okay?” Then -  _dear lord_  - he  _winks_ at him - again!

Dan takes another nervous sip of his drink, hoping he isn’t blushing. “I don’t think I can do it,” he blurts out. He isn’t lying - his hands are already shaking. “I don’t think I can play. I should go home - “

The barman puts his hand to Dan’s shoulder, pushing him back down into his seat. Then he retracts his hand.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says with a chirpy smile. “I guessed you’d do this. So I took the liberty of writing your name down on the schedule.” Dan’s eyes really widen. “Whether or not you play tonight, they’re calling your name.”

Dan’s face instantly flushes. “You prick!”

The barman only laughs. “You’re so cute when you’re mad.”

Dan quickly hides his face.  _Fuck! What was that?_ His heart feels like it’s going mad. Is that the nerves, or this guy’s out-of-the-blue comment?

The barman leans himself forwards, both hands on the counter. “Just give it a go, okay? There’s no need to be so nervous. Most people here are gonna sing really badly and make right idiots of themselves. You at least won’t be that bad.” He tilts his head - it makes his fringe fall away, revealing his second eye. They’re both incredibly blue, like the fringe. “How about you do it for me? I even bought you a drink for this.” He mocks a pout. “You wouldn’t disappoint me, would you?”

_Fuck. It’s definitely this guy._

Dan coughs awkwardly and covers his face with his hand, hoping this guy doesn’t see his blush. “Why are you so interested in me, anyway? Am I not annoying you?”

Surprisingly, the barman huffs, and drops his head lazily into both of his palms.

“Take a look at this place, okay?” Hesitantly, Dan complies, wandering his eyes over the scene of the bar. There are a lot of people - many in their mid-forties, and many of them men - making a huge amount of noise. “Look how many middle-aged men there are here, drinking away their sorrows and avoiding their wives. Most of them probably can’t even get it up anymore.” Dan stifles a laugh. “Don’t you think, being here for ten hours a day, six days a week, that this place would get mind-numbingly boring?”

“Oh,” Dan says, agreeing straight away. University halls are bad enough. It’s the same kind of scene, except the people are all a couple of decades younger and they’re running from adult life, not their wives.

The barman smiles. “And then look at you.” Dan shoots his head back round, eyes wide and trying not to blush. This smile the guy has is soft, almost adoring. It kind of makes him uncomfortable. “You look nothing like the people here. Don’t you think you caught my attention?”

Again, Dan just coughs awkwardly and looks away. “You’re one to talk,” he mumbles back. “Mister 2007.”

The barman just chuckles. “You’re quite sassy, aren’t you?”

Dan shrugs. “Eh - it’ll get old after a while.”

A number of singers go by, sounding horrible, one of which barely manages to stay standing. There is a guitarist, and she plays quite well, but she’s also had an obvious load to drink. It isn’t long before Dan is up.

“You sure you don’t want another drink, for courage’s sake?” The barman suggests with a laugh.

Dan just shakes his head. “Couldn’t think of a worse idea than that.” He’s still doubting he’s going up, even now. But, then again, if he really didn’t want to play, he should’ve left the place completely. Once his name gets called, whether or not he wants to go up, this barman-guy is going to make scene about him going.

 _Shit,_ Dan thinks.  _Too late now. I’m gonna have to perform._

“Next up for our open mic night is…” The barman - there’s only, like, two barmen here - takes a glance at the schedule in his hand. “… Daniel Howell!”

His legs instantly go to jelly.  _That’s it. I can’t even get up._

The barman probably notices this, because he lays a comforting hand on Dan’s shoulder and shows him a warm smile.

“Don’t be so nervous, okay?” he reassures him quietly, so no one else can hear. “No one’s going to judge you. Plus, I’m super excited to see what you play.”

Strangely, unusually, those words make Dan feel less nervous. Now, he kind of wants to go up and show off, in a way. Sure - he’s never had an audience before. But he never thought that audience could be excited, not just judgemental.

With a deep breath, Dan shows the guy a grateful smile, and pushes himself onto his feet. He shuffles over to the the other guy, standing in front of the piano. He asks him how he’ll be performing, and Dan replies - shyly - the piano. When the barman nods, Dan takes his seat.

It’s gorgeous, actually, now that he’s here and up close. It’s well-kept and clean - even the individual keys look wiped down. The pedals, too, as he tries them out, feel soft and easy. Someone working here likes their piano.

The crowd is still bustling, still chatting, but Dan is okay with that - he’ll be background noise, then, which sounds far more comfortable than everyone being silent in waiting. It sounds - and feels - more laidback than his exams. Dan lets himself sigh, feeling calm.

So he starts to play.

 _Raindrop Prelude_ \- that’s what it’s called. By… Chopin? He picked that piece not only because it was easy to learn and retain without the score laid out in front of him, but also because it’s calm. The whole piece is calm. None of it is rushed. The melody is gentle and slow. Hell - the left hand plays a drone of one singular note. And, most importantly, it feels calm. This used to lull Dan to sleep - well, during class. GCSE Music was really lame.

By the time the piece (the few minutes of the piece that he chose, anyway) starts coming to an end, Dan doesn’t feel as nervous anymore. This was actually fun - he can’t deny it. He wishes he could do this again. His fingers aren’t trembling anymore, and by the time he plays the last few notes, there’s a smile on his lips.

Once it’s over, for a moment… the room is silent. Then a round of applause erupts from the silence, even a few jeers, too. Dan assumes the people in this bar right now are way too drunk to even know why they’re clapping. He shuffles back over to his seat, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

“So?” The barman greets him again, nudging him with his elbow. “How was it?!”

Dan keeps his head down, but it’s in vain - the guy simply ducks a little and there - he can see the smile.

“I knew it!” he cheers with a laugh. “You had fun!”

Dan nudges him back with his elbow, mumbling a weak and hardly meant “shut up”.

The barman just keeps giggling to himself and lays his head back into his hand, resting on the counter. “You know, I did kinda take you for a pianist. I couldn’t imagine you with any other instrument. Though I did think you might be a singer, too.”

Dan, shaking again - the stress of the performance finally getting to him like it always does, eventually - nervously tries to use his voice again. He’s more nervous now, after exhausting himself, about making a fool of himself in front of this guy. “I can sing too, actually.” He coughs a little - feeling awkward. “But I don’t sing in public. I stopped singing lessons a few years ago, so I’m not very good.”

The barman pushes himself up. “If it’s anything like your piano playing, you’ll be incredible.” Dan immediately chokes. “That was amazing just now! What on earth were you so scared about?”

Dan’s face flushes bright red, so he covers it with his hands again. “Shut up!”

The guy chuckles to himself. Then he reaches out both of his hands and closes his fingers round Dan’s wrists, pulling his hands away. The touch makes Dan’s skin burn red hot, only making his face worse. Looking at him, the barman simply grins.

“You’re going to come back here, right?” he suggests, eyes glistening hopefully.

“Umm… I don’t know. Bars aren’t really my kind of thing.” He averts his eyes shyly, feeling extremely awkward all of a sudden. It almost sounds like this guy wants him to come back. “Plus, I really need to find a job.”

Without even a second’s hesitation, the barman jumps up, taking his hands away. “You can work here!” he beams with a smile. “Yeah! You can play the piano while people have their drinks - doesn’t that sound good?”

Dan can’t lie - he’s more than appealed by the offer. This is a chance to not only get a part-time job, to get some money, but also to play the piano. He can actually have a job in something that he loves. Whether or not he really wanted to try pursuing a career as a pianist, this job would work wonderfully if he did.

He can’t help but smile to this barman. “Do you really have the power to offer me a job here?” he asks, grinning cheekily. “Won’t I have to talk to your superior or something?”

The barman - now bouncing excitedly - confidently shakes his head. “It’s fine - I’m close with my boss. Besides, we’ve been looking for someone to play that thing for a while now.” His smile widens. “You’ll be perfect.”

Without even thinking, Dan finds himself agreeing, even buying another drink to talk through the details with this guy.

Phil. His name is Phil. That’s what he tells him. In return, Dan begs Phil to call him Dan, and never Daniel.

Laying in bed, back in the halls, Dan can’t help himself but keep smiling. He has a job now - three days a week, five hours a night, £8 an hour. This little venture of his has worked out amazingly, all thanks to Phil.  _Crap - I did remember to thank him, right?_

***

Dan spends the next couple of days practically camping in the music room. He has to decide what kinds of things he’ll play for five hours straight. Luckily, he can bring all kinds of sheet music with him, but that also means he has to spend loads of his printing credits on it. He should have brought a printer with him, dammit.

Maybe it’s bad, that he’s prioritising this new job over his law studies, but it’s so easy to procrastinate those with something so exciting, something he loves so much.

The first night he works (Friday), Dan is greeted by the now friendly familiar face of Phil, the bartender. He smiles brightly and gives him a big, elaborate wave. It’s almost cringey, but Dan actually finds it comforting.

“Hi!” he greets energetically as Dan walks over to him. “You ready to start?”

Dan smiles shyly and slowly his head. “I think so…” he mutters under his breath. Phil walks round from behind the counter and wraps his arm around Dan’s shoulders, instantly making him feel even shyer.

“Don’t be nervous, okay? You’ll do fine,” Phil reassures him in a soft, caring voice. “Just imagine you’re in your bedroom or something, and you’re playing for yourself. Or,” he grins, squeezing Dan’s shoulder briefly. “You can imagine you’re playing just for me.”

An awkward laugh pushes itself out of Dan’s mouth at those words, out of pure surprise. “Jesus Christ, you’re flirty!” he blurts, trying to recover.

Phil just laughs and loosens his hold. “I know. It’s my specialty.”

Phil leads him over to the piano and Dan gets himself settled, pulling out his sheet music and laying it out before him. Phil eyes it curiously and smiles to himself, not saying a word.

“What’s your favourite drink, by the way?” he asks, tapping his hand on Dan’s shoulder. Again. It makes his skin feel weird. “Alcoholic or not. I’ll bring you one every so often, on the house.”

Dan’s eyes widen. “You can do that?”

“Yeah - we get free drinks while we work here.” Phil chuckles. “Have you not worked at a place like this before?”

Dan’s head drops sadly. “Well… I worked in ASDA once…”

“Ah,” Phil says, seemingly understanding. “You’re not allowed anything free from there, right? Just a discount.”

Dan hums in agreement. “Which you only get when you’ve worked there for four months.”

“How long were you there for?”

Dan grumbles. “One month…”

The barman chuckles to himself and slips his hand from Dan’s shoulder.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it then.” People were starting to thread in, a few of them students.

As Phil starts to walk off, Dan blurts out “Coke!” which makes him turn back round. As Phil raises an eyebrow, Dan starts to blush. “F-for the drink. I’ll just have coke, if that’s okay.”

At that, Phil smiles again. “We’ve only got Pepsi, sorry.” Dan feels like flipping him off for that. “And,” he starts, winking at him -  _fuck_ , does he always have to do that? “You’ll be great.”

Dan turns his head to the piano to hide his growing blush.

The evening passes quite well, to his surprise. People don’t take much notice of him - it’s a bar on a Friday night, after all - but Dan is glad of that. He originally thought that being in such a crowded, loud, drunken place was going to be terrifying. But when people ignore you, it’s not too bad at all. Phil was right: Dan could feel like he was all by himself, in this peaceful little corner.

Every little while, Phil would come over with a glass of coke and smile on his face. Sometimes, he would stay for a while, leaning against the piano, listening in silence to Dan’s music. It makes him extra nervous, though, when he does that. His hands would start to tremble and suddenly he’s scared he wouldn’t quite hit the right keys at any moment. But, as much as Dan feels like he wants Phil to leave because of that, he kind of wants him to stay. It feels nice to actually be watched, listened to, and admired. No one has ever done that before.

As the evening comes to a close, and people start to thread out, Phil leaves the other bartender at the counter and wanders back over to Dan.

“You can stop playing now, if you want,” he suggests, a little sadness in his voice. “Or, you know, you can keep going. I wouldn’t mind.”

Dan continues playing for a little while, determined to finish the piece. “That depends - will you pay me for that?”

A giggle escapes him and Phil lets out an amused “Hell no.”

So Dan finishes up the piece and sits back from the piano, and the whisperings of the nearly empty bar fill his ears in place of its soft tunes.

Phil, casually, leans one elbow on the top of piano and shows Dan a confident smile. “Wanna get a drink with me?” he asks, without even hesitating. “I’ll pay.”

Dan scoffs. “I know they’re free, Phil.”

The barman grumbles a little defeated something under his breath and slips his arm away from the piano.

“But,” Dan continues, making Phil perk up again. He smiles. “I’d love to.”

Phil beams excitedly back.

So they sit down together, both cupping a glass of something non-alcoholic in both of their hands, awkwardly tapping the glass.

Turns out, there isn’t much to talk about.

“I’m sorry,” Dan laughs awkwardly, keeping his eyes on the half-empty glass. “I guess I’m too tired to socialise right now.” After all, it is two o’clock in the morning. Why did he agree to these shifts again?

“Don’t be,” Phil mutters back. He takes his hands away from the glass and rests his elbows on the table, letting his head fall into his hands. He smiles contently. “I’m happy enough just to sit here with you.”

 _Fuck_ , here’s comes the blush again! Dan tries to hit his face by having another drink. “Why are you so flirty, by the way?” he asks, a little shyly.

“Because,” Phil starts, like he’s thought this part through already, like he’s even scripted it, ready for this moment, “I like making people feel good about themselves. And, best of all, it takes the focus away from me.”

At that, Dan falls speechless. “Huh,” he mumbles, surprised, and hoping Phil didn’t hear it.  _I  never would have thought of that._

“Don’t act so surprised,” Phil cuts in with a chuckle. “I’m obviously not a very exciting person. And - you are.”

 _I really wish he’d stop_.

But, at the same time, Phil’s words, even as silly and unmeant as they may be, even solely as a defense mechanism, they stir something warm and weakening inside him. Dan can’t say that he hates it. But, even so, he really hopes Phil doesn’t notice.

“Of course you’re exciting - your hair is fucking blue!” Dan finally manages to look Phil in the eye. Why did it seem so scary? He’s adorable! “And you’ve got tons of piercings, and - wait. Fuck, is that a tattoo?!”

Phil giggles and rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a whole sleeve of various colourful tattoos. Dan’s jaw falls down in awe.

“Holy fuck,” he gasps, making Phil laugh.  _How did I not see these before?_ He leans closer. “Is that  _Pikachu?!”_

“Oh yeah,” Phil brags back. “This is my nerd arm.”

Dan lets his eyes excitedly run over the rest of Phil’s sleeve, muttering an astounded “I love you” under his breath. Phil can’t help but laugh at that. He sees a pokeball, a katana, something that resembles Animal Crossing, and what might be the face of someone Dan barely recognises from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  _Oh my god_ , Dan thinks.  _I’m actually in love with this guy._

Of course, that’s a joke.

“See?! This is exactly what I was saying!” Dan shoots back into conversation. “You’re not boring, Phil.”

“Well, I never said that,” Phil replies as he rolls his sleeve back down. “I got all of these  _because_ I wanted to be more interesting. People see me every day - but hardly anyone really gets to know me.”

At that, Dan is touched. He kind of wants to squeeze with in a tight hug now, but best leave that for another day.

“And, when people do, that’s when I get less exciting.” He shrugs. “But you - “  _Fuck._  “ - you’re interesting on the inside, and like it or not, that bleeds out of you.” Dan - again - hides his face with his glass, sipping timidly. But Phil leans forwards, a smile beaming from his face. “You know, when you blush, it’s really cute.”

_Oh, fuck._

“Shut up,” he grumbles, really struggling to hide his flushing cheeks. Dan considers fleeing at this point, and possibly never coming back. Running from this guy Phil and his endless, out-of-nowhere flirtations and never looking back. Thoughts like that are always at the back of Dan’s mind, and he really doesn’t want to give into them for one: after all, he managed to get a job by not running away so far. But, as much as he wants to see this through, to push on, this Phil guy is starting to become an obstacle he can’t get past. Because, at this point, it almost sounds like he’s  _genuinely_ trying to flirt with him, and Dan isn’t part of that scene.

“By the way,” Phil continues before Dan can jump out of his seat, “I wanted to talk to you about your music choices.”

“Oh?” Dan calls back, relaxing back a bit into his seat.

“Yeah. It’s very… very  _beautiful_ , to be honest, I can’t lie about that.” He winks.  _Goddammit._ “But, you know, this is just a bar. You make it sound like we’re in some kind of expensive West End restaurant.”

“Ah.” Dan shrinks into himself, feeling a little stupid. “So… should I play something else, then?”

Phil leans back in his seat and taps his finger against his chin, in a mock extravagant thinking gesture. “Hmm… what other music do you like?”

Dan just blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Like… songs, Dan. Pop? Punk? Metal?”

“Oh!” Dan jumps up, excited. “I like Muse, and Fall Out Boy, and MCR? Is that what you mean?”

Phil smiles back, approving. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. Do you think you could learn songs like that instead?”

Dan sighs. “That would be fine.”

Later in the evening - or, more accurately, the morning - as Dan grabs his backpack and makes for his leave, Phil calls out his name urgently and taps him on the shoulder.

“What?” Dan says shyly, turning back round. Phil stands right in front of him, holding out his phone. Dan looks down at it in his hands and, realising what Phil’s asking, starts to blush.

“Could we swap numbers?” he asks, almost politely - no, almost  _shyly_. “You know, in case you have an emergency, or a question, or… or something.” To add to the vague, uncommitted tone of the request, Phil limply shrugs his shoulders, as if to say  _“I don’t know, just… please?”._

And, even so, Dan takes Phil’s phone into his own hands and timidly gives him his number. He tells himself as much a he can that it was a work-related request, and nothing more. But, aggravatingly, the alternative implications just won’t leave his head.

***

The next night - Saturday - Dan returns to the bar for his second shift, armed with a mix of classical pieces, emo songs, and bags under his eyes. He spent the entire day cramming these new songs into his head, and eventually couldn’t get many in. He didn’t even sleep when he got back in the morning, which was a horribly stupid idea.

Even so, once the evening is done, when Phil invites him for a sit down and a drink, Dan doesn’t refuse.

“You look a little tired today,” Phil comments, looking more concerned than usual. “You slept when you got back yesterday, right?”

Dan averts his eyes from Phil and plays with his drink sheepishly.

“You’re an idiot!” he laughs. “What the hell were you doing?!”

“Learning some more modern songs,” Dan mumbles - no,  _grumbles_  back. “Like you asked me to.”

For a moment, Phil is silent. “I meant for next week, you idiot. I didn’t expect you to learn them for the next night.”

Dan stares at him incredulously. Then he just groans and drops his head angrily onto the table, making a loud  _bang_ ring through the room. Phil tries not to giggle.

“I admire you, Dan, but you’re a real idiot sometimes.”

At least, from here, Phil can’t see him blush.

***

Finally, for Sunday, Dan doesn’t bother learning any more songs, sticking to his classical pieces instead. Like Phil said, he can swap them for more modern material for next week.

The evening - or night - goes by as smoothly as the rest, with Phil bringing his drinks every so often and taking a few moments to lean against the piano and listen.

And, at the end of the evening, the glorious moment arises of Phil handing Dan a sealed white envelope: pay day.

“Sorry about the cash,” Phil says - well, apologetically. “I can set up online payment for next week, if you would prefer that. Cash probably feels a bit… umm, dodgy.”

“True,” Dan laughs. He gives Phil his details and thanks him for the night. “Goodnight then - and I’ll see you on Friday!”

As he goes to leave, Dan hears Phil cry out after him.

“Wait!” he yells. Dan stops and turns back around. By the piano, Phil stands, looking sheepish all of a sudden. That’s really not like him. Not that Dan has known him that long, anyway.

“Would you… umm… could I treat you to dinner sometime?”

Dan just stares at him for a while.

“Err, sure.” He smiles. “I’m free tomorrow if you are.”

Phil smiles back, looking like his usual self again. “It’s a date.”

Dan knows he’s joking.

“I’ll text you the details, okay?” he nods back, finally stepping out onto the streets again. Dan feels a little warm inside. He guesses it must be Phil. It’s been a long time since he’s really had a friend.

***

Phil works six nights a week at that bar, all except Mondays, because hardly anyone goes out on Mondays. Luckily enough, that means his free day can be spent in the most sparse of places: shops, cinemas, and restaurants. But, even if, he likes to spend his time alone.

Except today. That makes Dan the exception.

“So do you take all your new friends out to fancy restaurants like this?” Dan chuckles to himself from behind the awkward wall of his menu. His eyes shyly lift over the top, and across the table to him, sits Phil, with his head resting in the palms of his hands, and his eyes watching Dan unwaveringly. He chuckles also, lightly, breathily, half-attentive, smiling  softly. It’s like he’s day-dreaming.

“Friends…” he mutters offhandedly to himself. “I suppose I do.”

Awkwardly, Dan chuckles again, slipping back behind the defense of his card-thin menu.

It’s now that he’s starting to realise something he didn’t want to dare think about before - because he has no choice but to see it now. It’s like an elephant in the room at this stage. A big, rainbow-coloured elephant, with a bright blue fringe, tattoos across its skin, and huge fluttering eyes.  _Crap_. Dan can feel it now, like something in the air he can’t not breathe in. He can feel this guy’s intentions, the weight of his ever-so-rose-tinted gaze. It’s getting to be too much.

“So?” Phil hums excitedly. His head even tilts to the side slightly, like a child. “What would you like?”

Dan’s eyes widen. “W-what do you mean?”

 _Fuck,_ Phil’s reaching his hand over - !

He taps the back of Dan’s menu lightly with a chuckle. “For dinner, silly.”

Dan can’t even bring himself to sigh out his tension. This is ridiculous.

But, even still, he can’t make himself leave, or even confront the situation. This is the first friend that Dan has properly made in a long, long time, and he doesn’t want to lose that to such a weird complication. Maybe… maybe Phil is just a little…  _extra_?

They order their drinks first since the waiter comes a little early, and the minute that it’s placed down in front of Dan he grabs it tightly and sips is as regularly as he can. He wonders if this makes him look weird in front of Phil. He wonders if Phil knows what he’s thinking. Maybe that’s  _exactly_ what Phil is trying to do!

“I was wondering…” Phil starts to suggest, settling into his hands again. “After we finish up here, would you like to come back to mine?”

Dan’s heart stops.

_Shit._

With trembling fingers, he finishes off his drink and pushes himself up from his chair, leaving the glass on the table. “I-I have to go now,” he mumbles, barely keeping his voice level. Phil stands himself up too whilst Dan quickly shoves all his things into his backpack again.

“So soon?” Phil whines - his smile has gone.

“I-I have a lecture tomorrow.” He goes for the door, rushing out before Phil can grab him. “See you!”

Dan runs out into the silent, chilly streets of Manchester, expecting Phil to follow him. So he starts running, as fast as he can, so Phil can’t catch up.

 _What am I supposed to do now?_ Dan deliberates. His heart is in his throat pounding relentlessly.  _He probably thinks I’m gay. He probably wants to get with me. Oh fuck, what the hell am I going to do?_

***

Dan drinks himself into a state of delirium to make himself forget about Phil.

He drinks that night, sleeping in until a ridiculous hour, and doing the exact same thing again. He doesn’t want to think about Phil - past, present or future. He doesn’t want to think about the complicated implications of Phil wanting to get with him. He doesn’t want to think about what to do about the job. For now, he wants to drink it all away and pretend it doesn’t exist.

And, somehow, in his stupid drunken state, he seems to blackout.

***

“Oh  _god_ ,” one of the barman groans. “Phil!”

Phil, solemnly, wishing he too could drink that night away, wanders over to his colleague. “What?”

The guy just rolls his eyes and points at the door - and there, collapsed against the doorway without managing to make his way inside, is a very drunk Dan.

“What the hell?!” Phil cries at the sight. He rushes over to the door and grabs the barely-conscious teen before he collapses completely to the floor. “Dan, what are you doing here? It’s a Tuesday!” Tuesday are not only  _not_ nights that Dan works, but also socially dead nights. There’s hardly a soul in the bar.

“I…” Dan groans, slurring. “I missed you…”

“ _Please_  deal with him,” the other barman whines. “Take him home if you have to.”

Phil looks back at him for approval. “Are you sure?”

The guy just waves him off. “You can still get paid, okay? Just… I don’t like drunk people.” (That guy was working in the wrong business.)

So Phil helped Dan into a chair and went to fetch his belongings, not leaving him alone for long. When he ran back, Dan was leaning over the counter, probably begging for more alcohol, and the other barman had his back pressed against the wall in distress. Phil sighed, shaking his head in shame, and finally dragged Dan away. The barman yelled a relieved “Thank you!” as he left.

“Jesus, Dan,” Phil groans as he practically carries him through the cold streets. “What’s gotten into you? I thought you didn’t drink.”

Dan lifts his head a little - his arm is round Phil’s shoulders, pressing most of his weight down onto him. “Alcohol makes everything good for a little while,” he answers, then drops his head back down again. Phil just sighs and doesn’t say anything else again.

He takes Dan through the short walk back to his house - his own house, in the centre of the city.

“You didn’t eat dinner last night, did you?” Phil asks him, half not expecting an answer. Miraculously, Dan giggles and shakes his head. “Have you eaten at all?”

Dan lifts his head. “Alcohol makes everything good again.”

Phil just rolls his eyes.

He struggles to drag him through the doorway and up the stairs, since Dan’s legs decide to stop working part way up, but finally manages it. Once inside, he simply takes Dan into his bedroom and drops him into bed, pulling up the covers over him.

He leans down and dares a gentle kiss to the top of Dan’s head. “Go to sleep now, okay?” he sings as gently as he can.

When he pulls up again, Phil finds that Dan’s fingers have clasped round his shirt.

“Dan…” he sighs. “Let me go.” He closes his hand round Dan’s to tug him off, but at that, Dan  _whines_.

“No…” he sniffles. “Want cuddles…”

Phil’s face blushes deeply. How drunk  _is_ he right now?

Dan tugs his shirt gently, pouting. “Pleeeease…! I’ll go to bed…”

Internally, Phil warns himself to be smart about this, and jumps in next to him.

“Alright - but you swear you’ll go to sleep!” he cries as he pulls the covers over himself.

Dan purrs and wraps his arms round Phil’s chest, snuggling up - even nuzzling his head into his neck. Once settled, he sighs happily, relaxing against him.

“Warm…”  he purrs, making Phil blush.

“Yeah, okay, just go to sleep.”

As Dan’s eyes close, Phil can’t help but let his hand rest on the boy’s head, playing gently with his hair. He is really cute, even like this.

“Phil,” Dan whines, tightening his fingers into his shirt. “Are you gay?”

Phil raises an eyebrow.  _That’s_ what’s on Dan’s drunken mind? He fakes a laugh. “Is it not obvious enough?”

Dan buries himself further into Phil’s neck. “I think you have a thing for me.”

At that, Phil feels his heart jump a little. “Well… you’d probably be right.”

“But…” Dan slurs. “But I had a girlfriend.” Phil’s heart drops. It’s not like he wasn’t preparing for something like that. It always happens. It still doesn’t make his chest fill with heavy disappointment. “But,” Dan continues, making Phil wonder if his train of thought isn’t all making it out of his mouth. “I like being with you. Makes me feel… umm… weirdly… good.”

Phil finds his face growing pink at those words. His heart warms a little inside. “Is that so,” he smiles. “Then get some rest.”

After that, Dan falls soundly asleep.

***

He groans in pain as he wakes, his head throbbing with the hangover.  _Shit_ , Dan curses at himself.  _You’re a fucking idiot, getting drunk like that. Have some self-respect for once._

He rubs his eyes, huffing in irritation, and finally decides to get out of bed -

Wait.  _What the fuck? Where am I?!_

This isn’t Dan’s room. Hell - this place isn’t even familiar!

_What the fuck did I do last night?_

He jumps out of bed - thankfully still fully dressed - and creeps out of the door.

And there, in the living room of this strange home, sprawled out on the sofa, is the one-and-only Phil. Dan feels his stomach twist up.  _Why the hell am I here? With Phil?!_

Carefully, with his heart pounding, Dan sneaks through the room, past Phil snoozing on the sofa, towards the door. With trembling fingers, he clicks it open - glancing back at Phil, he’s still asleep - squeaks it open, and slips out.

He starts to run, running as fast as he can, so he never has to face Phil again.

At the end of the road, Dan freezes, stock-still at the edge of the path. He has absolutely no clue where he is. Cars race past too fast for him to cross the road. Even so, even if he managed that, where the hell would he go? He’ll need his phone to sat nav him home.

“DAN!”

His body tenses up.  _Fucking why?!_

He spins around, fingers trembling again, as Phil comes running up to him. He brakes right in front of him, panting in exhaustion.

“What… are you doing?” he gasps out. “You can’t know… where to go… from here.”

Dan backs up defensively. “I-I’ll use my phone!”

Phil holds up his hand, revealing Dan’s phone in his grasp. The colour drains from Dan’s face.

“Just… just come back…”

He steps back again. “No!”

Phil rolls his eyes. He’s still struggling to breathe -  _damn, he’s unfit._ “You’re being ridiculous, you know!” he yells out. “What do you think I’m going to do to you? So what if I like you? I’m not going to hurt you!”

Well… now he says that… Dan has been acting really stupid lately. He couldn’t even be sure that Phil liked him, and what has this guy even done to him? He encouraged him to play at the Open Mic Night, got him a job, praised and complimented him like no one else ever has, and has generally been nice to him. And Dan got scared of him? After all that,  _because_ of all that, Dan pushed him away? How stupid.

Dan’s head drops in shame and he takes a step forwards.

“I’m sorry…” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Phil just lets out a sigh and holds Dan’s phone out to him, which he shyly (and gratefully) takes back.

“So…” he starts, keeping his voice quiet. “Will you come back with me? Just for breakfast?”

Dan stares at the floor. Then he slowly nods his head.

Phil leads him back to his house and lets Dan settle on the sofa where he himself previously lay - all that stress and running aggravated his hangover, the idiot - as Phil heads to the kitchen and serves up some toast. When he comes back, he’s holding a cup of tea, which Dan accepts with a shy smile.

“So,” Phil starts, sitting down next to him with his own cup.

“You like Muse,” Dan interrupts in a quiet voice. It takes Phil by surprise. He looks over to where Dan is looking and realises he’s staring at his shelf full of albums - and, beside it, a dusty guitar.

He chuckles lightly. “Yeah. But only because you recommended them to me.”

“But I - “ Dan pauses, realising, and closes his mouth again.

“I also like Bastille,” Phil decides to continue. “And Nothing But Thieves. They sound like your kind of bands.”

Dan just shrugs, keeping quiet again. He wants to ask about the guitar, but shyness - and humiliation - have tied up his tongue.

Phil takes a swig of his drink, wondering how to approach this. “So,” he starts. “What exactly were you thinking?”

Dan tries not to look at him. “About what?”

“Well, about me.” He shrugs. “Isn’t that what all this crazy behaviour has been about?”

Dan wants to object to that and be offended, but let’s be honest - he did run out on dinner, get ridiculously drunk, and try running out before Phil woke up. So he keeps his mouth shut.

Instead, he sighs, gripping his mug tightly. “I guess you’re right…” he moans. “I did get stupidly drunk because of you. I wanted to stop feeling so awkward about it.”

Phil waits a while before asking “Awkward about what?”

Dan feels his weight being dragged down to the mug in his hands, like his body is desperate to use it as a distraction. But he knows, in the rational part of his head, that there’s absolutely nothing appealing about this bland old thing. “About you…” he whispers, unironically feeling awkward about it. “It felt like you came on so strong to me, and I freaked out.”

Strangely, seemingly out-of-place, Phil chuckles. “Is it because I’m a guy?” he suggests. “Was it the gay thing that freaked you out?”

Dan stays still for a moment, still looking down, and gently nods his head.

Phil hesitates, considers, and moves himself slightly closer to the teen beside him. “You know, you might not like to hear this, but from the minute I first saw you, I got serious gay vibes from you.”

Dan shoots his head up then and starts yelling but Phil raises his hand over his mouth, making him stop.

“Let me finish, okay?”

Dan lets out a huff and frowns, but complies. So Phil slips his hand away.

“So as we got talking, and started to know each other better, those feelings didn’t go away. It’s not like you talk camp, or dress feminine - that’s not at all what I mean. What I  _mean_ is that I got this really strong sense that you liked me too.” Dan’s eyes widen. “Come on - you blushed at every little flirty comment I made.”

As if on cue, Dan turns quickly away.

Phil continues. “And, if I have to say, I don’t think I was wrong.”

Dan’s heart starts pounding. Phil takes the mug out of his hands and places them both down on the table, out of the way. Then he takes one of Dan’s hands between his own. Dan yanks it back, shooting him an incredulous, terrified glare. Phil gives a gentle, caring one back.

“Please…” he says softly, reaching for his hand again. “I won’t hurt you.”

Out of nerves, Dan gulps, but, this time, he doesn’t pull away.

Phil takes his hand again - one hand underneath, holding him at the wrist, whilst the other plays gently over his knuckles, over the back of his hand, and slips down further. A couple of his fingers slide under the sleeve of Dan’s shirt and stroke his wrist, being extra careful. Meanwhile, Dan stares down at their hands, frozen, breath held. It feels strange, this awkward sort of contact. But he can’t bring himself to move away.

The bottom hand retracts, and instead Phil hooks his fingers under Dan’s, gently holding his hand. His thumb strokes over his knuckles. Dan feels his face going red.

Then Phil’s hand reaches up to Dan’s face, slipping round to the back of his neck. His heart starts going crazy, he thinks it might burst. He feels Phil coming closer, so he forces himself back.

“W-wait - ” he cries, scared.

But Phil shushes him softly. “Dan…” he whispers, like the beginning of something.

Dan feels Phil’s fingers press down slightly, willing him forwards, and, with his heart in his throat, and Phil so close, he makes the terrifying decision to give in.

Turns out, Phil’s sentence draws a blank, because without saying anything more, he presses his lips to Dan’s.

Instantly, Dan’s heart leaps into his mouth, his whole body buzzing in shock, and he shoves Phil away, jumps off the sofa, and out the door, his legs shaking, without looking back.

***

_Shit shit shit!_

Dan’s mind doesn’t stop crying that as he finds his way home.

_Shit! Look what you’ve done! Shit! What about the bar?! SHIT!_

He slams his head against his bedroom wall over and over again, wishing it could knock him out.

_That’s it. Life ruined. Have to quit the job now. It’s not like I can face Phil again, not after that, not after a fucking kiss._

He bangs his head again.

Dan slips down the wall onto his knees and starts to cry, letting the tears out in a way he hasn’t done for years.

Why did things have to come to this? Why couldn’t he and Phil just be good, and not get awkward, and he could work at the bar with him forever? At this point, Dan could beg for Phil to stop existing - no, to never have existed at all.

He sobs against the wall, into silence. Uncaring, unforgiving, unfillable silence. Silence that hardly exists when he’s with Phil. Silence that doesn’t matter, that he hardly notices, when he’s with Phil.

 _Fuck._ Things are too complicated. It feels like Dan’s about to be eaten whole by it all.

He has to end it. No question, no deliberation. He has to cut everything off. And go back to his boring, uncomplicated life.

***

The very next night, Dan plucks up the courage to go into the city and visit the bar for the final time. How else is he going to quit?

It’s only a Wednesday night, so it isn’t very busy in here - so much so that there’s only one bartender behind the bar at the moment. Sheepishly, Dan walks over to them, shrunk into himself a little.

“Excuse me,” he asks, not really recognising them.

They lift their head and look at him immediately, showing him a gentle smile. “Oh,” they cry happily. “You’re the pianist!”

He really tries not to blush. “Yeah. Could you help me find Phil? He’s supposed to be working today, and I really need to talk to him.”

The bartender frowns in a sad way. “Sorry hun, but he’s not in. He called in sick today.”

“Oh.” Dan’s heart feels heavy all of a sudden. He didn’t seem sick yesterday. “Then… do you know who I could talk to about quitting?”

They give a little giggle. “You don’t need to tell anyone! It’s not like you signed a contract just to volunteer here.”

At that, this time it’s Dan who frowns. “Excuse me?”

The bartender steps back a little. “… What? What’s wrong? I don’t know much - Phil only told me you were volunteering to play the piano sometimes. Did you actually sign a contract with him or something?”

Dan’s jaw drops in shock. But it isn’t long before that turns into rage.

He rushes out of the bar and quickly finds Phil’s number in his phone, giving him a call. It takes a while for him to answer.

“Dan?” he calls, a little excited, and not at all sounding ill.

“How much of a liar are you?!” Dan yells down the phone. “You call in sick to work to do god-knows what - “ He grits his teeth. “Who did you lie to? Me or your colleagues?”

For a still moment, Phil is silent. Then he sighs sadly.

“You found out,” he sags. “About the volunteer thing.”

“Yes I fucking did! So explain yourself. Did you really lie to me?”

There’s a long, heavy pause.

“Yes. I did. I offered you a job at the bar out of excitement, and when I couldn’t get my superior to agree, I agreed for you to volunteer instead. I was scared that you wouldn’t want to stay if you wouldn’t get paid, and I didn’t want to lose you, so I pretended you were really employed.” He lets out a long sigh. “I also lied to you about the prize money for the Open Mic Night. I did it to make you go along.”

Dan scoffs. He’s practically shaking in anger. “So where did my paycheck come from?”

“My pocket,” Phil mutters sadly. “I’m so sorry, Dan. I didn’t know what to do. I was selfish, and foolish, and I shouldn’t have tricked you like that just because I got clingy.” He takes in a deep, wavering breath, making it sound like he’s on the verge of tears. “How can I make it up to you?”

Dan considers that. But it’s hard to when he’s this mad. “You can’t. You don’t. You’ve strung me along from the start. And now you expect me to, what, not just forgive you, but want to  _date_ you?!”

Phil lets out a sudden sob. “Dan, I - “

“Save it,” he snaps.

He hangs up the phone before he can say anything else. He feels like smashing it against the floor, burning the bar to the ground, making sure he can’t ever speak to Phil again. But he’s probably not that mad.

“Fuck!” Dan cries, clenching his hands into fists. _I wish I’d never walked into that fucking bar._

***

The first thing that strikes Dan after a couple of days without Phil is that, for some reason, he really misses him.

It’s stupid. It’s childish. It’s not rational. Phil lied to him to keep him close - he even came onto him without knowing whether or not he was gay. He deceived him.

But…

But Phil was nice. He was kind, and gentle, and put up with Dan even when he was piss-drunk, apparently. He was never mad, never tried to manipulate him. He didn’t even try to deny his lies when Dan found out, or try to justify them. Hell - he even paid out of his own pocket just to make him happy. And Phil couldn’t have kept up these lies forever - he would’ve had to reveal everything eventually. Yet he still tried to make Dan happy with him in every other way. It didn’t seem like a maliciously-designed trick. It seemed more like… like it was sketched up in panic.

And, maybe worst of all, Dan really was happy with him. Even when things got scary: if it wasn’t for his impulse to flee, Dan would have been happy to stay.

Perhaps… perhaps the best thing to do now is confront him. Finally give Phil the chance to talk about it. Maybe he really does regret it.

Dan decides to visit him the day after, at his house rather than the bar: if they’re going to talk, Phil’s workplace wouldn’t be the best place. It takes him a while to find, because he only went there once, but since he used his phone to find his way back from there the address is stored in its memory, making it a little easier.

As he walks past his window, on the way to the front door, Dan realises the curtains are open - glancing instantly inside, his heart leaps into my throat and he springs backwards out of view:  _he’s there! Phil is right there, in the living room! Could he have seen me? No, idiot, he’s facing the other way._  Nervously, now kneeling by the window this time, he sneaks his head round for another peak: and  _yep, there he is_  - facing the other way, lying back in a recliner-like chair that looks quite tatty and worn (must be a favourite). In his arms, as if he’s cradling it, lays his guitar. Dan’s heart instantly flutters at the sight:  _does he play? Why didn’t he tell me this before? I should have asked about it when I had the chance._

At first, he doesn’t hear much, because of the glass and the walls between them, and initially he doesn’t realise that Phil is playing, because he can’t see his fingers working on the strings. But, the first thing he does hear, what makes him realise that he’s playing, is when he starts to sing.

Mind, it’s only quiet, but with his lonely residence leaving no one to hear him, Dan can vouch for the fact that this lets him sing as loudly as he likes.

_“Lover_

_I know you’re weary_

_Eyes are tired from the night_

_“Lover_

_Come to the kitchen floor_

_Tiles are cold_

_So am I”_

Dan realises he doesn’t know this song. It’s probably something Phil likes alone, not because of him. He wonders if that means he connects with it more.

_“So take from me_

_What you want_

_What you need_

_Take from me_

_Whatever you want_

_Whatever you need_

_But lover_

_Please stay with me”_

He isn’t the best singer, but that doesn’t matter - neither is Dan, and he still sings, on occasion. What really matters is that he can hear the song, he can hear how Phil interprets it, how he feels it, and how, in succession, he produces it himself, with his own voice and his own fingers. This is when the sounds from the guitar seem to faintly become audible for him, and he realises that he’s gently plucking the strings to produce a soft, lullaby-like melody. It feels calming, and he wonders if this is why he’s playing it - to keep himself calm. Honestly, Dan finds this kind of music keeps him sleepy, and sometimes solemn, if that’s the mood he’s in.

_“Lover_

_I feel your sorrow_

_Pouring out_

_Of your skin_

_“And I don’t want to be alone_

_If I am tonight_

_I’ll always be”_

He returns to the part about allowing the lover to take, and Dan assumes that to be the chorus. Listening on, he feels his own heart aching, as if paining to join the rhythm. He feels his body’s energy draining away, like this music always does to him. He feels himself empathising. And he realises - listening closely, to every single word, and every emphasis that Phil’s ordinary voice produces through them, like the words themselves are the vessels that carry his meaning - that Phil is singing about him. Whether or not the lyrics match, the feel of the song does, because Phil is the one creating it; that means, his being affected, that he’s connected to him, more than he previously thought. It makes his heart rush and warm, conflicting his general calmness.  _Take from me what you want, what you need. But lover, please, stay with me._ It’s only now that he realises Phil’s true -  _no_ , he wants to say selflessness, but generosity isn’t even word enough: it’s  _sacrifice._ All he’s wanted - all along - is it give everything he possibly could to him, let him have everything, let him  _be_ his everything, all for the smallest sense of  _something_  back.

And Dan was scared of him. It seems, now, that he’d rather hurt himself than ever hurt him.

Phil drops his head over the back of the chair, relaxing, still playing the song.

_“And I can see you_

_I can feel you_

_Slipping through my hands_

_Oh_

_I can taste you_

_I can taste you_

_Slipping through my hands_

_“So take from me_

_What you want_

_What you need_

_Take from me_

_Whatever you want_

_Whatever you need_

_My lover, please,_

_Stay with me_

_My lover,_

_Please stay with me”_

His throat feels tight and dry by the time the song finishes, and he takes a deep breath in.

_Fucking hell, I’m a terrible person._

Shyly, he watches on, as Phil slowly pushes himself out of the chair and returns his guitar to its place beside the albums. Dan feels sad to see it go back - he fears it will sit there forever now, gathering dust again. He wants Phil to play it again, no matter how small.

His heart pangs with pain.  _I want to see him again. I want to talk again._

But what can he say? What could happen, face to face? He doesn’t want to see Phil so upset - not when his voice portrayed that enough. He doesn’t want to see him mad with him either.  _I wish there was a way to hear his voice again, to have a normal conversation with him again, without having to be with him in person. I even miss our silences; it was okay, because I knew he was there, and he knew I was there with him, and to him, that’s all that mattered._

So, nervously, Dan brings out his phone.

He rests it against his ear, hearing it ring out, as he still lays against the wall of the house. He briefly wonders what someone would say if they walked by him. How strange he must look.

The ringtone cuts suddenly off, and his heart skips a beat. “Dan?” Phil’s voice, a strange combination of relieved, surprised, and a little bit hoarse, as if his throat were dry too. “What are you doing?”

Dan tensely gulps, trying to moisten his own throat in self-consciousness. “I… I just… missed you.”

A moment of silence passes on his end. Then, softly, I hear him expel a sigh. “Oh,” he says back, clearly not knowing what to say. “I miss you too. But you already know that.”

 _Ah, my turn_. “Yeah.”

Silence again. It’s heavy, more foreboding, than it used to be. But that’s all Dan’s fault.

“Have you left the bar?” he asks, almost only as a filler. Dan can’t tell whether he would rather Phil allow the silences or let him hear his voice. “I mean… have you quit?”

He considers this, and furtively - as if ashamed, and as if seen - lowers his head. “I’m not going back.” He hears Phil take in a deep breath through the phone, as if for defence.

“I see,” is all he says, as flatly as he can. But the disappointment is obvious - he can’t cover that.

Dan wonders, for a moment, whether Phil is laying back in his little recliner for this call, or if he’s also sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. Dan draws his knees up into his chest.

“Why did you do it?” he cries out, almost harshly, unable to hold the question back any longer. “I want to hear you talk about it. Justify it, even. Just… please… tell me what you’re thinking.”

For a while - a long, almost endless while - there’s nothing. And Dan starts to itch, because he can get nothing out of this silence.

But, eventually, Phil starts to speak:

“It’s not like it’s going to make sense, and I don’t really want it to - I don’t want to trick you into thinking what I did was right, the way I tricked myself.” That makes Dan’s heart clench to hear. “I could talk for hours about it and it’ll just be a mess of my thoughts. Do you really want that?”

Dan doesn’t say that no matter what he’s going to say, he just wants to hear his voice.

“Then tell me something else,” he tries instead. “Something simpler.”

Phil pauses. “Like what?”

He debates that. Then, without debating it much, decides to let himself say: “I never knew you played guitar.”

At that, he hears Phil’s breath hitch. It makes his own heart race.  _Shit._ “How - “

“M-my hangover,” he urgently suggests. “I saw it when I was round yours. I guessed you had to play.”

Even Dan knows how obvious that was.

“Dan,” Phil says, leading into something - he can hear the hope (more rather, the tremble) in his voice. “Are you nearby?”

His whole body begins to tremble. “I…”

“Come round.”

His blood flushes cold for a brief second.

“I-I mean, if you want. I want to see you. Why don’t we talk in person?”

Dan’s throat tightens up again. “No.”

Phil pauses - but this time it’s only brief. “But, Dan, you just - “

His heart races. Phil must know he’s here, he  _must_ , he could find him and there’s no way for Dan to get out in time.

“ _Please_ ,” he cries, suddenly feeling breathless. “I just want to talk.”

Silence. The tension is stiff, and Dan’s heart is going mad. Phil knows how close he is, there’s no denying that, Dan can feel it in this tacet. He could easily come and get him if he really wanted to. No - again, that’s not the right word. Of course Phil  _wants_ to. It’s a case of whether he’ll  _choose_ to.

Phil lets out a sigh, and the tension breaks. “Okay. If that’s all you want.”

Dan feels like thanking him, because he deserves it, he truly does, but he’s too guilty to say it.

“I picked up the guitar in senior school, if you really want to know.” Dan perks up, his mood brightening as Phil obliges him. “It was just a little hobby. I taught myself, wanting to see if I could play some of my favourite songs - at the time. And I don’t really sing, not usually - “ The subtly was non-existent in that “ - but I do sometimes, when I feel like it, because I don’t feel like I can express the songs well enough through merely their chords.” He pauses, probably considering what else to say. “It was never that important to me. I’ve kept it with me because, well, how could I get rid of it?”

Dan licks his lips briefly, feeling them having gone dry again. “Did you never think of carrying it on?”

Phil laughs. “God, no. I could never be good enough.”

“Then what were you good enough at?” he asks, without even thinking about how mean that might sound. “What did you pursue?”

Dan gets the feeling Phil might have shrugged at that question. “Well… not much. Sure, I went to uni, like you, thinking I needed a degree to get a decent job,” boy did  _that_ sound familiar, “but there was nothing in academics for me, not in my future.”

The silence returns, only for a fleeting moment. But Dan enjoys it this time: it’s tranquil again. “What did you study at uni?”

“English.” Dan gets the sense, from the sound of his voice, that Phil may have just smiled. “You’re not enjoying uni, Dan, I can tell.” A quick change of subject brings Dan’s focus out of the sea of tranquility he was just wallowing in. “Just, as some advice, don’t just stick it out. A degree you’ll never use isn’t worth wasting three of four years of your life. If you want to pursue something else - if you really,  _really_  want to - then go for it. There are always other jobs you can get, even if you don’t succeed.”

Strangely, as much as Dan wants to roll his eyes at that, to wave it away as wishful thinking, he can’t help but smile. For an instant, with Phil, it seems possible.

***

Phil returns to work on that night, feeling a little brighter than he did before. Dan doesn’t show up, of course, leaving the evening to fall back into its usual, numbing drone. Once there, he can’t help but feel a little bleaker, because the interest in his life is gone again, leaving it colourless once more. It’s like Dan’s music - or maybe just his presence - kindled a little fire within his chest, and that drove him through the night with a smile; but, without it, time just drags.

He takes his break at his usual time - around midnight - despite wishing he could have taken it earlier, and survives until the end of his shift. This night felt longer than most: he can’t wait to get back to bed and wait for the next.  _Four-and-a-half hour shifts with half-an-hour’s break,_ he groans to himself in the staff room, packing up his things;  _what a life._  He thinks again, what he’s always thought, what he stopped thinking for the brief time he barely had Dan:  _Doesn’t it seem like life never really gets you very far? Like you’ll always stay in the same singular boring place? Yeah. That’s exactly right._

So much for trying, when it only leaves you in the same boring place as before, with an added memory of happiness and, with it, and added pain of longing.

And then, strangely, Phil hears the piano play, faintly, as if it could only be in his head. But, the song, the one he hears being played… that isn’t usually played on piano. The singer, too, is new.

_“You might kill me with desire_

_Wind me tighter than a wire_

_It’s something that you do to me_

_I run away like Mercury_

_“And I know you think it’s rough_

_When you’re tryna patch us up_

_And I say ‘honey what is love?’_

_You just say I drink too much.”_

His heart leaps practically out of his chest and blindly he follows it, jumping out of his chair and dashing back into the bar - and, there, miraculously, filling the empty, waiting seat at the piano, sits the pianist.

_“Maybe I’m defective_

_Or maybe I’m dumb_

_I’m sorry_

_So sorry for what I’ve done_

_“Maybe I’m bad natured_

_Or maybe I’m young_

_I’m sorry_

_So sorry for what I’ve done”_

Dan glances up from the piano and his eyes catch Phil’s - he hesitates, his fingers even stiffen on the keys, but he carries on, looking away again.

_“And I’m the t-shirt that I wear_

_Pick the thorns out of my hair_

_I broke your heart so carelessly_

_But made the pieces part of me_

_“And now it hurts what we’ve become_

_‘Cause you taught me how to love_

_It’s me who taught you how to stop_

_And you just say I drink too much”_

Phil lets out helpless laugh and covers his mouth with his hand. As Dan continues into the chorus again, singing about being defective and dumb, he steps forwards and starts crying for him to stop. And, hesitantly, Dan does.

“What are you doing?!” he cries - seriously on the verge of tears. “That song - !”

“Nothing But Thieves,” he nods back, pre-empting the question. “You recommended them.”

Phil lets out a breathy laugh. “Well yeah, but… it’s about a breakup: the guy is trying to apologise for how terrible he was, for things he probably can’t ever be forgiven for. Hell - it’s about a  _relationship_! So why  _that_ song?!”

For a moment, Dan just stares at him blankly. “Oh…”

Tensely, trembling, Phil runs his hand through his hair: he feels his legs will give out at any moment. “Yeah! I-if anything, it should be me singing it.”

Dan drops his fingers gently from the piano. “But… I had to say sorry.”

“For what?” Phil drops his hand from his hair. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

“Of course I do,” he snaps back. “I blew up about your lies, even though they hurt you way more than me. I should have thanked you for what you did.”

“Dan, no - “ Phil pleads - he doesn’t want justification for lying like that.

“Let me finish.” Phil reluctantly shuts his mouth. “I’m not saying you did the right thing. You deceived me, and you shouldn’t have done it.” He bows his head. “But you know that. You always knew. So I can’t punish you anymore. Besides: paying for me out of your own pocket is something I have to thank you for.”

As bad and as guilty as he feels for it, Phil can’t help the smile that grows on his face.

“And,” Dan continues, smiling himself, and standing up. “I picked the song because I liked the lyrics.” Phil raises his head and sees Dan stop right before him, and his heart starts to flutter nervously. “I liked the part about Mercury, because it’s true: all I seemed to do was run away. And not just from you - from everything. But…” he trails; he taps Phil’s hand with his own and slips their fingers together. “… I don’t want to run away from you anymore… from this…”

Phil gulps. But, desperately, he tightens his fingers round Dan’s, happy to feel them again.

“You know what?” Phil says, taking Dan’s other hand too.

“What?”

“Mercury rules the Geminis, too.”

Dan’s eyes widen. “What? How did - “

“I stalked your facebook,” Phil admits with a grin.

He can see, in Dan’s face, despite the look of irritation it tries to bear, the true fondness he feels lays behind it - he can tell, because of the light blush he’s truly bearing.

“Then I just have one question for you,” Phil hums, loosening one of his hands from Dan’s grip and threading it through the hair by his ear. “Why tell me you had a girlfriend?”

His eyes widen. “What? I never claimed to!”

Phil giggles. “Oh yeah - you were a bit drunk at the time.” Dan’s face falls in horror. “It’s okay! That’s the worst thing you said. I just can’t figure out what you were thinking.”

Dan drops his gaze to the floor - well, more like Phil’s shirt. “Well… I guess… I didn’t think I could date a guy. I had a girlfriend, yeah, until uni. I told her that’s why we had to break it off - because of the distance. But… really, it was because it didn’t feel right.” He lets out a sigh, like getting this off his chest brings him a great, unexpected relief. “I never let myself think about it, though. When you came onto me, I convinced myself that I was straight.”

Phil smiles, bringing their heads slightly closer. “So… what about now?”

He gulps. Even without knowing what words to say, even when his tongue fails him, Dan knows Phil gets his answer - because his face burns bright red.

***

They lay together, sharing the space of Phil’s bed; only the lamp on the bedside table is on, dimly lighting the room. It creates the sense of a tranquil evening, whether or not it really were one. They lay side by side, without the covers, letting Dan’s eyes venture over the markings on Phil’s skin. He’s already seen what the right arm had to offer, so, now, he’s seeing the left.

“It’s…” he struggles. “… It’s a bunch of plants.”

“ _House_ plants,” Phil corrects with a smug little grin.

Dan raises a concerned eyebrow at him. “Wait - they’re a real thing?! It’s not just  _you_?”

Phil sticks his tongue out at him for that.

Then, almost dreadingly, Dan dares to ask: “Do they… have names?”

He nods back, proud. “Some are named after celebrities, like… this one:” He points to a lanky cactus - can they be  _lanky_? It certainly looks like it. “That’s Brendon.”

Dan scoffs. “Brendon Urie?” Phil nods in excitement. “Oh god.”

He spots a small rose - pink, with a deep red centre. “What about that one?” Carefully - timidly - he lets his finger touch the tattoo, blushing lightly as he does. “Did you call her Rose?”

“No, that’s Lily.”

Dan’s embarrassment fades in place of disappointment. “ _Really_?”

“Yeah! And this - “ He takes Dan’s hand by the wrist and leads it over to a lily. “ _That’s_ Rose.”

Dan frowns. “I hate you, you stupid nerd.”

Phil’s expression softens, and he brings Dan’s hand against his chest - his  _bare_  chest - entwining their fingers.

“No you don’t,” he smiles. “You love me.”

At that, Dan’s face takes on the brightest blush Phil has ever seen.

He chuckles back, mumbling under his breath: “Incredible.”

“What?” Dan asks shyly.

“Even after all this time, you still blush like a little kid.” Dan whines out a little curse and turns over, hiding his face in the pillow. “No, it’s cute! I love that you blush.”

Dan begrudgingly rolls back over.

“You know, you haven’t even asked about the most important one yet,” Phil hints, bringing Dan’s hand, this time, to his neck. “How could you ignore him?”

He’s right: all across Phil’s neck, as if wrapped around it tightly, with its tail looped over his shoulder and its head just under his ear, is a dragon. It seems such a colour that made it impossible to choose between calling it green or blue, almost as if it kept changing the longer you stared. And, yet, it wasn’t scary to look at: this dragon almost looked friendly. Dan kind of wished he could draw a long blue fringe onto it.

“He has a name, too,” Phil tells him - hinting for him to ask.

“What is it?”

Phil grins. “Philgon.”

Dan yanks his hands away and rolls over. “You’re a fucking moron and I really do hate you.”

Giggling, Phil reaches over and spins Dan round to him, pulling him close and - quickly, before he can object - pressing their lips together. But even though he may object before they do (and many a time, to Phil’s dismay), once Phil’s kissing him, all his reluctance seems to drain away. He feels Dan’s heartbeat quicken against his chest, but he doesn’t pull away anymore. It’s always Phil who pulls away first.

“You know…” Phil whispers between them, unable to help having a smile on his face when Dan is this close. “I used to wonder what colour you should dye your hair.”

Dan only hums back, a little out of it.

“Yeah. And what tattoo you should get, or maybe a piercing. It took me a while, but I think I finally decided on the perfect thing to match your personality.”

He perks up, intrigued. “What?”

“A flower crown.”

Dan hesitates, deliberating whether or not that’s a joke or another terrible decision. “Are you serious?”

“Of course! You’d look perfect in a little pink flower crown, full of Lilies and Roses.” To emphasise his point, he raises his left arm over Dan’s head, imagining the flowers in his hair. “This Lily and Rose, by the way.”

“Fuck off,” Dan groans, knocking Phil’s arm away again.

Instead, Phil sighs out a joyful laugh and rests his hand in Dan’s hair, stroking it gently without thinking.

“I’m really glad you didn’t run,” he admits with a little half-smile.

 _Does it ever feel like life never wants you to succeed? To be happy? To really be_ you _?_

Thinking back, Dan wonders why he was so deluded into thinking his career was all that mattered in life; why should only your career let you access happiness? Here, with Phil, Dan has found everything he was scared about never having: he can play the piano, be himself, and he’s happy. So what about his career? Maybe he drops out of Law, or auditions for some conservatoire, or maybe some big-shot discovers him at the bar. Whatever happens, why fret? As long as he’s with Phil, Dan feels like everything can be okay. After all - he’s still playing at the bar every week, as he loves.

He lays his own hand over Phil’s and smiles. “Me too.”

 


End file.
